


The Theorist and the Hero

by NightFoliage



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 2017 Stancest Secret Sana Exchange, Ford is the guy in the chair, Identity Porn, Incest, M/M, Stan is the spy, Suspense, Twincest, code names, some violence/language, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 02:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13308372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFoliage/pseuds/NightFoliage
Summary: Ford has graduated, and instead of going to Gravity Falls right away, he decides to follow up on a mysterious job offer. He finds himself being thrown into a world he thought he would only see in movies.





	The Theorist and the Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistycodec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistycodec/gifts).



> Author's Note -I enjoyed writing this and thinking about the universe for this AU. As a result this fic is PreStancest, because I couldn’t fit all my ideas in time.
> 
> Date Published: 12/31/2017 (gifted)
> 
> Posted on Tumblr: 1/2/2018
> 
> Date Edited: 1/7/2018

The card arrives in a bland white envelope that he doesn’t toss out because Fiddleford points it out to him. Inside is a business card on good quality card stock. There’s an address on the front and a date and time on the back. Both items are pristine and nothing is hand written.

It’s unusual enough to pique Ford’s curiosity.

If he leaves now, he can reach the address in time, so he does.

The address is a nondescript building, surrounded by other nondescript buildings. Ford fidgets as he walks in, tugging nervously at his sleeves. He stands out dressed like a poor college student when he’s surrounded by wealthy looking white collar workers.

When he enters the building, the secretary takes one look at him and points him to another desk located just out of the view of the entrance.

He would think he was being politely kicked out if it wasn’t for the building’s unusual behavior. Ford’s used to stares, remarks, and titters around him, but no one says anything about him or his hands. The people around him seem like normal business workers (balding men, harried workers, women carrying papers), but they don’t take another look at him like most would.

It gives Ford the chance to steel himself and walk in deeper.

The secretary greets him with a friendly, if blank smile. He’s about to write her off; she’s wearing too much make-up, she’s over-perfumed, and her hair is teased to death, until she speaks:

“Your invitation?”

Her voice is just on the side of ditzy, but the question makes Ford pause. She doesn’t stop smiling, but she continues to hold eye contact making him uncomfortable.

He looks away first, fumbling for the envelope and the card. After a moment he manages to find both. The woman takes the card and Ford gets distracted by someone’s obnoxious laugh. He looks back when he realizes the person laughing, isn't laughing at him.

Ford startles. There’s someone else standing next to the woman that wasn’t there before. The woman’s smile doesn’t change. The man next to her grins. 

“Follow me,” says the man.

The man- swaggers, that's the only way Ford can describe the motion, to a door set off to the side that he hadn’t noticed. He glances back at the woman who is checking her nails. He hurries to follow the man.

“Have a nice day, Stanford Pines,” the woman says, sweet and nasally.

“Ah- you too,” Ford manages to say. 

The door has closed behind him, when he manages to process what she said. However, he continues to follow the man.

Ford takes a second look at the man now. The first thing that catches his eye is his long blonde hair. It doesn’t match his elegant and expensive looking suit.

Ford squints. Now that he takes a closer look, this could be the man that tried to recruit him at school. He had received quite a few job offers after his last presentation. However, that man had been charming and well spoken. This man shares his physical attributes, but he looks and sounds rougher than the recruiter.

“This way, Stanford Pines,” the man says. 

How does everyone know his name? Ford continues to follow the man around a series of hallways. He can memorize the way, but hopes he doesn’t have to. He gets the feeling that it wouldn’t be a good idea to wander around alone. 

All the hallways look the same. They’re completely empty and silent, and there isn’t a single window. There are cameras everywhere, old ones, and new ones that are barely noticeable. Ford pointedly stares at one, not at all fooled.

“Noticed the cameras, Stanford?” The man glances back for the first time, rather smug.

“I prefer, Ford.” He says, because he does, and he’s trying not to show how uncomfortable he is by them simply knowing his name.

“We’ll remember that,” the man says. And finally Ford spots a hint of the recruiter in this person. The man smiles, a pleased smile that doesn’t quite match his face. Ford feels as if the man should be smirking, not hiding behind a false half smile.

At last, they finally stop in front of a door. Nothing is remarkable about this door, they’ve passed many doors like it on the way here. However, this is the only door with a bright red, neon ‘EXIT’ sign above it. 

“The doors real,” the man offers. “If at any point you want to go, there’s the exit.” Ford’s afraid for a second that he’s failed whatever test this is, but the man ignores the exit and proceeds to take a few more steps to the door at the end of the hallway.

But instead of opening it, the man attaches a small device at the base of the doorknob.

“You’ll wanna step back.”

Ford steps to the side so he’s behind the man and not a moment too soon the device explodes. Ford jumps back, while the man inspects the door. Then he kicks the door open. He walks forward like he hasn’t just broken into a room and Ford follows him, warily.

The room is absolutely lovely. Expensive gadgets he’s seen before, but never touched. And gadgets he’s never seen before. A state of the art computer rests on one of the desks. There’s a fridge and a bookcase full of books. There’s a blanket on the chair. The whole room looks warm and cozy, exactly the sort of place that Ford would love holing up in.

A sense of pride flushes through him. “So I’ve finally passed your test?” Ford asks, confident.

“No, Ford. This is your test.” And the man gestures to the- radio? Sitting next to the computer.

Ford walks in and gingerly takes a seat, before jumping up again. He removes the empty candy wrapper off of the seat and tosses it into the full trash can underneath the desk. 

Ford frowns. He takes another look at the room.

There are papers littering a side table. There are dozens of post its tacked on the wall. There is a pyramid of soda cans in the corner of the room that were out of view of the doorway.

Now that Ford looks closely, the room is cozy because someone’s been living in it.

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, Stanford Pines, is to help one of our agents make it back to base. He has important intel, but we can’t spare any resources at the moment to extract him. You’re his backup now. Bring him home.”

And then the man leaves.

Ford is left floundering in his wake. Then he goes to the door. The man has already disappeared from sight. 

He gapes at the empty hallway. What kind of explanation was that? 

The exit is right there, he could leave. He’s received a lot of offers and has a grant waiting for him back at school. He doesn’t have to put up with these, these,  _bullies_. 

But he remembers what the man, the recruiter, had hinted at before. That there was a secret agency that was looking for a man with Ford’s interests. That they too had the same interests. 

So what if this was a test? Ford can pass any test with no problem. 

And he can’t help but feel a responsibility towards the agent in trouble. How could he leave when he’s the man’s only hope? 

Ford closes the door (despite the fact that there’s a hole where the door knob used to be). The door manages to stay closed.

The radio is sitting on the desk, innocently. Now that he knows what to look for he can see the tuner and the headset that’s plugged in.

Instead of going to the radio, Ford starts to walk around the room. He eyes the various gadgets at the workstation, but decides not to touch them when he spots something similar to the incendiary that the man had used.

He goes to the safest object in the room: the fridge, and peeks in. Then closes the door quickly when he gets a whiff of something decomposing. He only caught a glimpse but he saw a molding sandwich, some chunky milk, and unidentifiable blue substances.

The freezer is much safer and reveals frozen meals that look homemade, waffles, and an assortment of healthy meals. Looking at the balanced meals makes him pause.

Now that Ford thinks about it, whatever was decomposing in the fridge was probably fruits and vegetables.

Curiosity now in full force, he looks at the surrounding cabinets. There’s a pantry full of brown meat and canned vegetables. There's oatmeal and flour and a cabinet full of spices. Hidden in a nook are cans of Pitt soda and jugs of water.

The next thing he looks at are the bookshelves. There are books he doesn’t dare touch, ones with cracking sleeves and in foreign languages. But the ones he can read are dictionaries, traveling books, books on every science: chemistry, biology, engineering, metal work, and coding.

There are books on the history of the states, and of every country imaginable. There are magazines of every type on one shelf. And hidden on the bottom shelves are the fiction and sci-fi books (and some questionable romance books). There’s Alice in Wonderland, HG Wells, and Lloyd Alexander books.

On a whim he takes out Alice in Wonderland. It flips open to a page easy enough, where something is written:

_“To my first recruit, you might have fallen into this, but I know I can expect the best out of you,_

_Jimmy Snakes”_

Ford blinks and gently closes the book. It’s well worn, but still in incredible shape.

There’s an image of the agent building in his mind. He had imagined a suave, classic, secret agent, like something out of the movies. His trip here has already proved that media isn’t completely wrong. But now he pictures an agent that is dedicated, educated, and does his best to finish the job.

And if it makes Ford feel a little bit of kinship seeing that this agent fell into the role, then he’ll keep it to himself. He wonders how the agent was recruited, how he caught the attention of this agency. If it’s like Ford’s case, then he was so skilled that they approached him. That’s certainly impressive.

The thought of this man dying, makes Ford resolve himself.

Before he can doubt himself, Ford sits on the seat and puts on the headphones. He slowly tunes through the channels and listens for a clue- ah there. Someone breathing, deep and ragged.

“Ah- Hello?” Ford scolds himself. That’s a spectacular way to conduct himself as a spy’s backup. “This is backup from the-“ and here Ford hesitates. “-the agency.”

The breathing stops and Ford is afraid that he’s already messed up.

“Prove it.”

The man on the other side sounds disbelieving, rightfully so. He’s American which further dashes his impression of a Sean Connery double-o-seven, but his voice is deep and rough in a way that makes Ford think that yes, he could be the suave agent that Ford has been imagining him to be.

“Well, I’m in your room right now,” Ford says.

The line on the other side falls silent. Then there’s a crackle of static which Ford realizes is a sigh.

“What's in the lowest cabinet on the left of the fridge?”

“Pitt Soda,” Ford answers easily.

There’s another pause.

“That damn snake,” the other agent mumbles.

“Excuse me?” Ford asks, confused.

“Not you. So what's your name?” Before Ford can answer the other man adds, “Not your real name, not over the line. First lesson, never use real names. Only code names.”

Ford flushes, because he really was about to give out his real name there.

Then he considers the possibilities.

“And no letters, or numbers, or anything that’s remotely like the movies, you hear me? That’s a big damn red flag to anyone who could be listening.”

Ford takes a moment. Then he knows what he wants to be called. “Call me: Copernicus.”

He hears a snort. “Okay,  _ya nerd_. I’m calling you, Nick”

Ford feels a pang of hurt, although nerd isn’t that bad of an insult. “What’s your code name then?”

“It’s Ron.”

That throws Ford for a loop. Secret Agent Ron? Not a very inspiring name.

“Now can we get the show on the road?” Ron rasps, before he lets out a terrible hacking cough. The static is loud and there’s so much of it, but Ford doesn’t dare take off the headphones.

He waits until the coughing peters out. Ron lets out a long groan.

“What do you need me to do, Ron?” Ford asks, desperate to be useful.

“There are blueprints on the table, grab ‘em. I’m on the third floor in a vent in the storage closet.”

Ford spots the blueprints and pulls the appropriate one out. He scans it and the rest of the blueprints on the table. There are tons of post-its on them, notes on possible hiding spots, guard rotations, and other miscellaneous facts. The vent in question is circled in red.

“Got it.”

“Here’s the plan: the only reason why backup can’t extract me is because I’m stuck in the damn building. As soon as I’m out, they can get me back even if it’s on the streets. I need you to lead me to an exit.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup, that’s it, Nick.”

“Why doesn’t another er-”

“Coworker,” Ron provides.

“Coworker,” Ford amends, “help you?”

“Because they’re waiting for me to get out of the building. But they can’t do what you can do, alright? I need a set of eyes on the outside.” Ron says, like it’s a fact.

Ford feels pride swell up inside him. That’s right, he’s in the position to save Agent Ron, so why wouldn't he? And why wouldn’t Agent Ron want to count on him, he’s already proved that he’s part of the same agency. Ford can be his eyes on the outside.

And Ford is relieved that Ron has backup waiting in the wings. He wasn’t too sure how he felt about an agency that would abandon it’s agents, but it sounds like this is a mission gone wrong so they’re pulling all possible for an agent.

“What do you need me to do?” Ford asks.

“These vents don’t go through the whole building, so I’ve planned another out. It’s the second floor bathroom. Call out for me the guard rotations and the time every five minutes.”

“I can do that,” Ford says.

“Next, when I give you the mark, you’ll need to send a message to the agents outside. I’m going to give you the code now, okay?”

They have codes! Ford thinks excitedly. He can’t wait to learn them all. “I’m ready.”

“Pasty's pizza, I had an order for a large red pie with extra onions?”

Ford blinks. Pasty’s is a pretty big chain, but it's a clever code. He’ll have to ask what the pizza toppings mean later.  

“Now normally they would say the counter sign-”

Ooo a countersign.

“-But we’re not going to get into it right now. They mean different things, but the reaction you’re going to say is: but your pizza's almost done, five minutes tops.”

“Oh, so the code is the timing?” Ford asks. It’s clever and innocuous.

“Yeah, that’s one of the simplest codes we have. So we’re ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready,” Ford says. The tasks are simple enough and there’s not a lot of pressure on his part.

Then there’s this odd sound on Ron’s end, a deep and reverberating sound that crackles. 

“Good, because I started the distraction at 8:21 to match with the security rounds-” Ford looks at his watch and it’s 8:23, “-and I need you to start calling out the times immediately.”

And Ford can’t tell Ron that he is actually NOT prepared, because he can hear Ron getting out of the vent and opening the closet. Ford scrambles to memorize the guard rotations and tries not to panic. 

-000-

Fucking Jimmy Snakes.

Sending Stan on this shit mission while refusing to provide extraction when it went to hell.

Doesn’t matter how much research he did, this mission was impossible without backup and more resources. That’s why he got stabbed by the remains of a torture session while trying to avoid the security. 

Now Stan is pretty sure he’s bleeding out in the goddamn vent. It was looking bad, but he’s been in worst situations. At least he got the info. His next plan was to take a nap in this vet, then take his chances. He’s pretty sure he’s going to have to rely on his last resort, so he’d prefer to be well rested. At least he has people waiting on the outside for him.

That was the plan until someone woke him up from his nap.

God, a fucking rookie, and definitely part of the science division if they had zero training. (Not that he has something against the science division, he’s actually good friends with a lot of them, but having them as back-up? Not very reassuring.)

But even as he’s walking this new guy through the basics, he thinks it’s nice to have someone in his ear. He’s always done most of his missions solo, so a little company (that can’t see him in his sorry state) is nice.

Stan shakes his head and tries to clear the fuzzy feeling trying to crawl into him. It’s definitely the blood loss and not him getting attached too quickly.

Copernicus isn’t even the worst code name he’s heard before.

Most agents pick a name with history behind it.  And if Copernicus wants to be named after a guy that had big ideas, but with no one to believe in him, well, what did Stan know.

If it reminds him a little too much of another person he once knew, then he can call him Nick and be done with it. Nick is someone new and someone who’s here to help, unlike that other person.

With backup, Stan can get on with the fucking mission. At least he has someone on the outside to call backup. So Stan starts his plan in the optimal time frame even though he’s still walking the rookie though the signs and countersigns. This way he at least has the hope that he’ll survive another mission.

-000-

Ford is struggling, grabbing all the blueprints so that they're close to him. He checks the time again and then grabs the closest pieces of stationary. He needs to write down the starting time-

“Looks like the guards are going towards the distraction. I’m turning a left and heading down the hallway. I’m going to try the south stairwell.”

-And Ford can hear Agent Ron on the move. Ford doesn’t curse aloud, he doesn’t want Ron to know he’s unprepared. He checks his watch again and checks the guard rotation, then checks the map to see where Ron is positioned. Then he almost misses the five minute mark.

“It’s 8:26,” Ford says as he grabs for a paper and pen.

“Acknowledged. Taking another left.”

Ford spreads out the other blueprints, There’s a nearby eraser and Ford places it at the second floor bathroom on the south east side. He follows Ron’s position with a finger. Ron seems to be coming up on where security should be stationed. 

“You’re coming up to one of the security areas,” Ford offers.

Ron is silent on the other side.

His nervousness is ratcheting up, until he hears Ron moving again. A moment later, there’s a groan and a thump on the other side.

“It’s taken care of,” Ron whispers back to him. Then he’s on the move again. “Moving towards the stairwell.”

“8:31,” Ford whispers back. Then, because he’s really curious, “Did you- uh, kill the man?”

“What? No, that’s too much trouble. I just knocked him out.”

“Wow,” Ford says breathless.

Ron chuckles and Ford flushes. Before Ford can offer an explanation:

“Thanks, Nick. Not everyday I have someone appreciate my work,” Ron says still chuckling. “I’m entering the stairwell.” There’s a pause. “Looks like no one’s around, I’ll stay silent until I can get to the second floor.”

“There might be security outside,” Ford says softly, and Ron whispers another acknowledgement. 

Ron makes his way down the stairs and Ford waits anxiously. The door swings open and Ford nervously cracks his knuckles.

There’s a crack on the other side and Ford jumps.

Ron’s cursing and suddenly there’s ton of static on the other side.

“What’s happening?” Ford asks.

Ron doesn’t answer. It’s only when there’s a loud snap that the static stops. There’s the sound of harsh breathing filling the mic and Ford can't bring himself to speak.

Ron lets out a hacking cough and Ford starts to bite his nails. 

Time passes. He glances at his watch and sees that the five minute mark had already passed. He’s got to do his job at the very least.

“Ron? It’s 8:37,” Ford says, his voice a whisper. The sound of his voice does not drown out the breathing from the other side.

There’s a crackle of static, Ron’s breathing out into the mic. Then Ron starts to laugh. It’s a warm sound even though it’s more wet than Ford thinks is normal. Soon the laughter peters out and Ron hacks again. Ford flinches until he realizes Ron is just spitting.

“Heh, thanks for having my back, Copernicus,” Ron says. Ford relaxes and hears Ron start moving again, slower, but at least he’s moving.

“Heh heh, anytime,” Ford says.

And it’s true. Ford realizes that if the agency turns out to be the place he thinks it is, then he can go back to this: being someone’s backup, being relied on, being the voice in Ron’s ear. Ford stops laughing after that realization.

“Thanks. Okay, I’ve reached the bathroom. Make the call,” Ron says, his voice is a bit weaker than Ford would like.

“Understood,” and Ford switches to other channels even though he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that this is the last time he’ll hear Ron’s voice.

-000-

Stan slowly counts the seconds and tries to steady his breathing. At most, he has a few minutes before another guard goes looking for the ones he’s already knocked out.

He keeps counting and hopes the rookie will be able to message his backup in time.

In the meantime he can review the disastrous fight at the stairwell.

It was sloppy of him to get caught, not to mention shot at. He knew there was someone stationed there, he should have just waited until they passed. 

But there wasn’t much time left for an extraction. Soon the bigwigs would have started coming in for the morning and if Stan was still there, then he would have been screwed for sure.

So he took his chances and managed not to get killed, although the fight was messy and he’s pretty sure his nose is broken again.

Belgian waffles, it was a good thing that Nick was there. He might have stayed there on the ground in pain if it wasn’t for him.

Stan chuckles again. He’s gone and got himself attached. Stupid nerds being easily impressed with dumb jocks like Stan.

Maybe he can take a nap or something while he’s waiting...

-000-

Ford slowly works through the channels again. Most of them are static and he even false starts his message a few times, but eventually he gets someone who responds oddly.

“Pasty's pizza, I had a call from this number about a large red pie with extra onions?” Ford recites.

“Oh!” The voice on the other side is high and feminine and completely surprised to hear him. Ford is about to switch to a different channel when the woman continues, “I do love onion pizza.”

Ford pauses and remembers the blonde secretary who was definitely an agent despite her looks and manner.

“Uh, well the pizza is ready for pick up,” Ford says, switching the words. He’s pretty sure Ron needs help immediately.

“Thanks, hon,” the woman says. “I’ll swing around the back to pick it up.”

And Ford’s heart leaps because the southeast exit is in the back. This is perfect, it’s definitely back-up. “Yes! I mean yes, it’ll be waiting for you.”

He hurries to switch back to Ron’s channel.

“Ron?”

“Who’s this?” Ron says gruffly. He sounds tired.

“It’s Nick, your backup is coming now.”

“That’s good, cause there’s a bunch of guys trying to knock down the door,” Ron replies. And Ford can hear it now, the banging and people cursing on Ron’s side. “What time frame do I have?”

“I told them to come right away,” Food says, proud of himself and now very worried.

“Good, out the window it is.”

And before Ford can say anything, there’s the sound of shattering glass. He’s afraid to listen for a thump on the ground, but it doesn’t come. Ford looks back at the blueprint for the second floor and sees a picture with what must be a picture of the building. Circled on the picture is the storm drain.

Ford lets out a sigh of relief.

“Hey there handsome,” someone says on Ron’s side. Ford recognizes the sultry tones from his earlier call. She sounds exactly like a Bond heroine and she probably looks the part too. “Do you need a ride?”

“Yeah, beautiful. I could do with a ride if it’s with you,” Ron flirts back, voice just as low and sultry.

Oh my.

“Well- fuck!” She breaks out of character and Ford blinks. Her voice is still lovely, despite her screech. “Byron! You've been shot! You’re bleeding everywhere- get in here dumbass!”

“Shot!” Ford yelps.

“I wasn’t shot, I was stabbed. And that was over an hour ago. If I’m not dead, then I’m not dead,” Ron says, matter of fact. It would be more convincing if he wasn’t wheezing.

“Byron,” the gal chastises, “as soon as we get back you’re going to medical.”

“Yeah, whatever, Shelly,” Ron grumbles.

“Don’t, Shelly me, just get some rest you schlub,” And Shelly goes and guns the engine of the car.

There’s a crackle of static and humming from the car. Ron (Byron?) continues to breathe noisily into the microphone.

“Hey,” Ron says suddenly.

“Yes?” Ford automatically answers.

“We did it, Nick. I’ll see you back at base,” Ron says.

Ford can’t wait to meet him. “Get some rest, Ron. See you back at base.”

Ford keeps the headphones on until Ron’s breathing evens out. Then he turns the radio off and waits. 


End file.
